


The Liberator, Vol. II: A Heroic Defeat

by kjack89



Series: The Liberator: The Heart Becomes Heroic [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Developing Relationship, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Secret Identity, Superheroes, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 04:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10482021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: After being rescued by the masked vigilante known as the Liberator, Enjolras becomes increasingly convinced that the justice system is broken beyond repair and Grantaire tries to show him just how misplaced his beliefs have become while keeping Enjolras from discovering his secret identity.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer applies. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“Based on the evidence presented to the court, I have no choice but to rule that all charges be dismissed,” the judge said, anger tightening her voice. “Bailiff, please release Mr. Brevet. Will the people’s counsel please approach the bench?”

Enjolras looked up, surprised at the request, and in the gallery, Grantaire stirred uneasily, glancing from Enjolras, whose normally golden curls were lank and whose pallor was paler than usual. “Certainly, your Honor,” Enjolras said, quickly shoving his papers into his briefcase before walking up to the judge’s bench. “Is there a problem, your Honor?”

The judge leaned forward. “Mr. Enjolras,” she started icily, “you and I both know that corruption is a problem throughout this city, including a number of judges and I would imagine a number of your fellow prosecutors. But never would I have expected to consider you among their number.”

Enjolras stared at her. “What are you accusing me of?” he managed finally.

“I saw the preliminary evidence filed for the Grand Jury, yet you presented only half of that evidence today, all of which was circumstantial. You sank your case, Mr. Enjolras, and I can think of no reason why you would do so unless you wanted that perp to walk. And the only person who would want a criminal to walk would be another criminal.”

Now Enjolras met her gaze evenly. “Or someone who’s beginning to think that the best way to deal with criminals is no longer the court system.”

For a moment, the judge’s expression softened, but as she gathered her papers, it hardened again. “If you believe that, then you have no business serving in my courtroom.” She stood, fixing Enjolras with a glare. “You’re one of the good ones. I would hate to see you disbarred for your actions — or your inactions.”

With that, she left, and Enjolras, still stunned, returned to the prosecutor’s table to grab his briefcase. “You just got your ass handed to you, didn’t you?” Grantaire asked from where he was waiting for Enjolras, a note of glee in his voice.

“Yeah, I did,” Enjolras said, not seeing the point in denying it.

Grantaire stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. “She’s right, you know,” he said, following Enjolras out of the courtroom. “You fucked up, and what’s worse, I’m pretty sure you fucked up on purpose.”

Enjolras stopped so quickly that Grantaire ran into him. “So what if I did?” he challenged. “At most, with the evidence we had, he would’ve been found guilty on the lesser charge and served, what, twenty months?” He shook his head. “This way, he might actually get the justice he deserves.”

“The justice he _deserves_?” Grantaire repeated, his voice shaking slightly. “Where do you get off deciding that? You had a chance at justice here, actual justice delivered by the system you are sworn to uphold, and you tanked it for, what? A vigilante committing murder?”

“It isn’t murder,” Enjolras snapped. “And the bare minimum sentence is hardly justice. Or if it is...maybe that’s just not satisfying anymore.”

Grantaire shook his head. “If you believe that, then quit. Quit your job, quit being a prosecutor, quit working in the court system. But do _not_ pretend that what you’re doing is right.” Enjolras rolled his eyes but Grantaire pressed onward. “You have worked your entire life on fixing the flaws in this system and working on the justice that I know you believe in.”

“Maybe I’ve found something more worthy of my belief,” Enjolras told him. “And it’s none of your goddamn business either way.”

He strode off and Grantaire sighed and shook his head. “Yeah, it is,” he muttered to himself before pulling out his phone. “Combeferre?” he said, when Combeferre picked up on the other end. “I need eyes on Brevet. And…” He hesitated for a moment. “I need eyes on Enjolras as well. I have a bad feeling about what he’s going to do.”

* * *

Enjolras turned up the collar of his coat against the rain and felt like the dark, rainy night was an appropriate setting for what he was doing. He felt a bit like the hardened detective in a film noir, following the bad guy to a bar in the seedy side of town, and the bad weather was only reinforcing that feeling.

That feeling was what gave Enjolras the courage to push open the door to the run-down bar and stride in like he owned the place, drawing glares from the few regulars hunched over the bar, but Enjolras didn’t care about any of them. He had eyes only for the lone figure lounging on a bar stool at the far end of the bar. “Brevet,” Enjolras called, his voice clear.

Brevet looked up at him, surprised. “Hey, aren’t you that lawyer guy?” he asked, draining his beer. “Looks like I’ve got you to thank for keeping me out of jail. Bartender—” He gestured at the bartender. “Get a beer for my friend here.”

“I’m not your friend,” Enjolras said coldly. “And I’d prefer if you joined me outside.”

Brevet laughed and stood, cracking his neck as he grinned at Enjolras. “Look who’s a big man now,” he said. “Don’t worry, boys, I can take care of this.”

From the back of his waistband, he withdrew a gun, and Enjolras gulped, the feeling of movie heroism leaving as quickly as it had arrived. He shakily held up both hands. “I don’t think—” he started, keeping his voice as calm as he could, but Brevet just gestured for Enjolras to turn around and walk outside.

Since Enjolras didn’t have any other choice, he did, slowly walking outside and flinching when he felt something hard and metal press against the back of his head. “So is this what you came here for?” Brevet asked, his voice a sneer in Enjolras’s ear.

“No, he came here for this,” another voice said, and without warning, someone punched Brevet in his face.

Enjolras whirled around, grinning because he recognized the voice. “You came,” he breathed, but before he could say anything else, the Liberator grabbed Enjolras around the waist and shot his grappling hook gun at the closest building. 

This time, Enjolras was more prepared for the rush as he flew through the air, holding onto the Liberator for dear life, and he barely even screamed this time, which was a good thing, because as soon as they were back on solid ground, the Liberator dumped Enjolras onto the roof and practically screamed at him. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“What are you talking about?” Enjolras asked, rubbing the back of his head.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” the Liberator repeated, glaring at Enjolras (at least, Enjolras assumed he was glaring at him. His mask obscured most of his expression, but his mouth was a tight line of fury). “You went after a murderer by yourself? Of course I came — I’m not going to let you die, but the point is, I shouldn’t have to. Because you should never have been in this position in the first place.”

Enjolras stared up at him. “I just…” he started, trailing off before he could finish the thought.

The Liberator shook his head. “You just what?” he asked, suddenly sounding very tired. “Do you think that I have nothing better to do than rescuing assistant District Attorneys with a death wish? Because this is the second time I have had to save from someone shooting you, but last time was an accident. This time was entirely of your own making.” Enjolras’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly, and the Liberator shook his head again. “I have to go,” he muttered. “I have far more important things to do.”

He turned to leave, but Enjolras found his voice enough to whisper, “I’m sorry.” When the Liberator paused, Enjolras added, a bit shamefacedly, “I just wanted to see you again.”

The Liberator stood frozen to the spot. “Why?” he croaked.

“Why?” Enjolras repeated, slowly standing up. “Because I believe in you. Because the work you’re doing _is_ important and I wanted...I wanted to see justice done. I so rarely get to see actual justice, but what you do...it’s amazing. And I just wanted to see it, one more time.”

When the Liberator didn’t move, Enjolras crossed over to him, tentatively reaching out to grab his gloved hand. Slowly, the Liberator turned and Enjolras reached up, cupping his cheek, and was just about to close the space between them when the Liberator planted his hand on Enjolras’s chest, holding him at arm’s length. “No,” he said, quietly. “I can’t.”

Enjolras stared at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

The Liberator shook his head. “I can’t,” he repeated. “I can’t be who you want me to be.”

Without another word, he was gone, leaving Enjolras on the roof of a building in the seedy part of town, more alone than ever before.

* * *

“Did you see this?” Grantaire demanded, leaning over Enjolras’s desk and waving that day’s newspaper in his face.

Enjolras groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time for this,” he sighed. “I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt you’ll be getting a lot of sleep tonight either,” Grantaire snapped, and for the first time, Enjolras realized that Grantaire was furious. “The criminal that _you_ let walk killed three people last night.”

“What?” Enjolras asked, grabbing the newspaper and scanning it in disbelief. “What the hell happened?”

Grantaire shrugged, crossing his arms tightly in front of his chest. “I don’t know,” he practically spat. “And frankly, I don’t care. I think the better question is where your precious Liberator was.”

Enjolras stared at him, horrified, realization draining all of the color out of his face. “He was with me,” he realized, dropping the newspaper on his desk. “I...I did this.”

Instantly, Grantaire’s entire demeanor changed, and he reached out to grip Enjolras’s arm. “No you didn’t,” he said softly. “This was not your fault. Sure, you may have been a contributing factor, but you did not pull that trigger and you did not kill those people.” When Enjolras just shrugged, Grantaire said more firmly than before, “Enjolras, look at me. This was _not_ your fault.”

“How can you say that?” Enjolras asked hollowly. “I made sure he stayed out of jail. I made sure that the Liberator wasn’t there to save those people. I _did_ this.”

“Ok, if you want to blame yourself, then you have to blame the Liberator, too,” Grantaire said swiftly. “After all, he should have been there. That’s his job, to deliver justice when the justice system fails. And he chose not to be there. He’s a...a superhero, or whatever, and if he had wanted to be there, he would’ve been.” His voice cracked slightly as he added, “If you’re to blame, then he’s to blame. End of story.”

Enjolras looked up at him, cracking a small smile. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” he said.

“No, I’m saying that because it’s important that you realize that the Liberator isn’t blameless here or in any other situation,” Grantaire said, perching on the edge of Enjolras’s desk. “You’ve put way too much stock in someone who’s _human_. Your faith would be better placed in the criminal justice system.”

For a moment, it looked like Enjolras might argue the point, but instead he leaned back in his chair. “Why do you care so much?” he asked. When Grantaire just stared at him, he waved his hand dismissively. “I mean, yes, I get it, I’m an officer of the court, I have obligations, whatever. But why do you care what I believe in, you who claims not to believe in anything?”

“Because I believe in you.”

Enjolras stared at him. “Be serious.”

Grantaire’s lips quirked slightly. “I am wild.” Then his expression turned much more serious. “But I _do_ believe in you. Or at least, I did. The work you do, the passion you devote toward justice — it made me believe, for just a moment, that maybe the world would turn out ok, that maybe, one day, we wouldn’t need a masked vigilante to do what the justice system couldn’t. But then you decided to put your stock in someone human, and fallible. And now I don’t know what to believe.”

“Believe in this,” Enjolras said, standing and closing the space between them and kissing Grantaire.

For one long, perfect moment, Grantaire kissed Enjolras back, but then he pulled away, his eyes wide. “I don’t—” he started, then swallowed and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I have to go.”

He practically fled and Enjolras stared after him, wondering what had caused him to, for a fleeting moment at least, see Grantaire in a new light.

* * *

Grantaire crouched on top of a building, scanning the crowds below. He adjusted the shield on his arm and lifted his hand to his ear. “Any sight of Brevet?” he asked.

“You don’t have to touch the earpiece for me to hear you,” Combeferre said patiently. “And I’m tracking him now. He’s on 24th, about to turn on to Adams street.”

“I know I don’t _have_ to,” Grantaire said. “But it makes me feel more like a spy when I touch the earpiece.”

Grantaire could practically hear Combeferre roll his eyes. “You’re already pretending to be superhero, I don’t see why you also need to be a spy,” he grumbled. Suddenly, his tone changed. “Grantaire, there’s something you should know.”

Grantaire closed his eyes. “I already know what you’re going to say,” he sighed. “Where’s Enjolras?”

“On 24th, about 100 yards behind Brevet.” Combeferre hesitated. “Do you think he’s trying to be a vigilante again?”

“If he does, I’m going to kick his ass,” Grantaire growled. “Get me a feed of Brevet and keep your eyes on Enjolras. Once I get visual, I’m going in.”

A zoomed in image from a red light camera flashed in front of Grantaire’s eyes inside his mask, and he took a moment to study Brevet’s trajectory before adjusting his shield again. “Alright,” he said. “I got him.”

He jumped off the building, falling swiftly and silently towards the street below. His aim would have been perfect, landing mere feet in front of Brevet, the perfect distance to take him down, but just before he was about to deploy his cape, Combeferre shouted in his ear, “Careful! There’s a pedestrian!”

Grantaire swore and adjusted his aim, landing several feet behind Brevet, far louder and more uncoordinated than he had intended, loud enough to draw Brevet’s attention. “Fuck,” Grantaire swore as Brevet whirled around, gun in hand, and he dove forward, tackling Brevet at the knees.

The gun in Brevet’s hands went off, and Enjolras, who had just caught up with Brevet, screamed, “No!”

Another shot was fired, and Enjolras froze, staring in horror at Brevet and the Liberator, who were lying tangled on the ground. Then, slowly, the dark blue-clad figure of the Liberator disentangled himself and stood. “Oh, thank God,” Enjolras breathed, rushing forward, but he paused, realizing something was wrong.

The Liberator’s breathing was labored and he couldn’t seem to put any weight on his left leg. “Enjolras,” he muttered, suddenly pitching forward, and Enjolras only just managed to catch him. 

“It’s ok,” Enjolras told him. “It’ll be ok.” He glanced down at the Liberator’s utility belt. “Where’s your grappling—” he started, but was cut off by the Liberator firing the gun in question and only just managed to hang on for dear life.

As soon as they were on the roof for the second time in as many days, the Liberator collapsed on the ground, and Enjolras could see the bullet wound in his thigh, blood sluggishly trickling from the wound. “It’s ok,” Enjolras repeated, kneeling at the Liberator’s side. “The wound doesn’t look too serious.”

“It’s fine,” the Liberator said, his voice strained. “You should go. I’ll be fine.”

“What are you talking about?” Enjolras demanded. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve been _shot_.”

The Liberator laughed lightly, though he winced when the movement caused his leg to move. “Not the first time it’s happened,” he managed. “Won’t be the last. Seriously — you should go.”

Enjolras shook his head and took the Liberator’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m not going anywhere,” he told him firmly. “Is help on its way, or do I need to call someone?”

“Help...is coming,” the Liberator said, his breathing becoming more labored. “Don’t...don’t hate me.”

“Hate you?” Enjolras asked, confused. “Why would I hate you?”

But the Liberator didn’t answer, having passed out from the pain. Enjolras hesitated for a moment, knowing with every bone in his body that he shouldn’t, but he just couldn’t help himself. Slowly, he reached forward, tracing his fingers along the Liberator’s face before slowly, carefully, peeling off his mask. “Oh my God,” he breathed. “Grantaire?”

**Author's Note:**

> ## The Liberator will return in Vol III: Hero of Sacrifice.


End file.
